The Ones Left Behind
by IAmThePoisonedYouth
Summary: Jethro Cane's life has changed a lot in three years. Ever since meeting the Doctor, he has promised to see more of the world, become more of a person. So he joined the Time Agency. One day, he finds himself on the run and must find more like himself, who survived the Oncoming Storm.


Teleporting was always a bad way to travel, you could never get to where you want, plus it left you dazed or with broken bones.

It was never ideal, but when you're in a life or death situation, sometimes it's the only thing one can do, especially when you're fighting for survival..

That's how one boy found himself one day, running as fast as he could, legs pumping as the sound of loud footsteps echoed behind him, the click of a gun being readied sending his heart racing into overdrive.

He didn't know why they were after him or what he had done, the memories just out of his grasp as he fiddled at the vortex manipulator strapped to his wrist, frantically typing in any coordinates he could think of, desperate to escape.

"I'm Jethro Cane." he murmured under his breath, "I'm Jethro Cane."

He had to keep the memory of who he was safe before _they_ could take it. The others. The Time Agents.

He was Jethro Cane, and he had survived the storm of meeting the last Time Lord, so he refused to get his entire life erased by these jokers. As quietly as possible, he brought up the holographic messaging system on his wristband and dialled up his parents.

"Hi, mum, dad…" he panted, keeping his voice as low as possible, "So, you're probably going to hear a lot about me, they're going to tell you some _horrible_ things, but I have two things to ask you." his breath hitched, "One - don't believe them, whatever you do. They're professional, trained liars, and two - don't try to find me. Please, please, just don't try to find me."

Jethro's head rose slightly when he heard a voice call, "I think he's down here, let's go!"

"I love you." he whispered, looking back into the holographic recorder, "And I'm so sorry, but you'll never hear from me again." a part of him ached with the urge to cry and beg for his life, but the fighter in him refused to let them win, "Goodbye."

In a swift movement, Jethro sent the hologram to them, then pulled his blaster from his holster before aiming it at the group of agents who crowded around the corner, each aiming their own weapons at him.

"Give up already, Cane!" Agent Robertson commanded, "Give up otherwise we'll be forced to execute you!"

Jethro tapped at his wristband, still holding the gun, trying to get in the coordinates, "I'd rather die than give up to you guys!"

"Very well." the other man scowled, "Take aim, lads, and remember this one's infallible courage." they all obeyed, aiming at Jethro, who was continuing to type, "And… fire!"

Before they could, a light consumed Jethro's body, the instantly recognisable light of teleportation, and Robertson cursed aloud, rushing over to see that Jethro had disappeared from sight.

Spinning, pieces of his body being torn apart, like every atom was being crushed. Those were some of the feelings of teleportation, the sickly rush of being pulled throughout time and space. Jethro hated it with every fibre of his being, but knew he had no choice.

Finally, his body crashed, and there was blissful nothingness.

"Hello?" a voice caught the attention of Jethro, and his eyes cracked open, blinking a few times at the bright sunlight that shone into the room he was stuck in.

Jethro sat up on his elbows, looking to see a boy around the same age as himself, perhaps a bit older, with short blond hair and dark eyes.

The dark haired boy groaned, "Where am I?"

"Um…" the blond looked confused, "You're in England."

Jethro arched an eyebrow - what the flunk was England?

"I'm where?" he rubbed at his head, seeing the growing confusion in the other boy.

He repeated, "England." he paused, "I'm guessing that you're not from around here?"

"What gave me away?" Jethro drawled, words dripping with sarcasm as he looked around, getting his bearings.

He seemed to be in some sort of barn in this Eng-Land, hay lining the ground. The other boy was wearing clothes that seemed unique for humans hailing from Sol III, or Earth, as it was better known. He had briefly studied the planet back at… back at…

The memory wouldn't come to him, and he realised that it was one of the things they had stolen, whoever they were. He could feel parts of himself shrinking away, and it scared him.

The blond finally replied, "Well, I would say your clothes, your weapon and your wrist accessory, but you're also a rather strident thinker."

"A loud thinker? What the bloody hell-" Jethro arched an eyebrow, "Which planet am I on?"

The other replied, "Earth, of course, sir."

"And what do they call you?" Jethro asked.

The blond replied, "Latimer, sir. Timothy Latimer."

That name sounded so familiar, Jethro mused.

"Well, Timothy Latimer, I'm Jackson Cairns." he lied as he extended his hand for the other to shake.

There was a flash of anxiety in the other boys' eyes, but it faded when he shook Jethro's hand, a smile gracing his lips. Jethro was a fairly good liar when it came to these sort of things, it was one of the first things _they_ taught him, and he almost always used the same alias, J.C., so he couldn't lose every part of himself.

"What year is it?" Jethro queried.

Timothy replied, "The Year of Our Lord, 1918, sir."

"1918?" Jethro frowned then tapped his vortex manipulator, "Must be faulty. Poor thing."

Timothy looked perplexed for a moment, then spoke, "Well, sir, I wouldn't recommend sitting there on your arse all day. Especially in that clothing, if I may say."

"What's wrong with my clothing?" Jethro asked, "This is top of the range, especially with the… with the…" he paused, a shuddering exhale leaving his lips as his eyes focused blankly ahead.

Timothy looked confused, "Are you okay?"

"My memories…" Jethro's voice was eerily stoic, "I think some of them are coming back."

All of a sudden, he couldn't concentrate, his head throbbing. Everything blurred around him, and Timothy's panicked 'are you okay?' was muffled in his ear. He could feel his body limpening, and he fell to the side, hitting his head against the hay-covered wood.

" _Do you think he'll remember?" a woman's voice spoke._

 _A man replied to her, "Not unless he fights to. I don't know. He doesn't look like a fighter. Or a runner."_

" _I do hope you're right on this occasion." the woman's voice was laced with concern._

 _The man reassured, "I swear, it will be fine. You and I will get what we want from him."_

" _And then?" the woman asked._

 _The man replied, "And then we can kill him. Now, hurry, he's waking up."_

Jethro groaned, eyes flickering open to see he was now in somebody's house. He let his head loll to the side, and saw Timothy warming his hands on a fire.

"What happened?" he asked.

Tim turned to him, explaining, "I'm not entirely sure. You simply keeled over. I ran for one of my friends, Hutchinson, he helped me bring you here, I had to make up that you were terribly sick."

"Are we still in Eng-Land?" he asked.

Tim's face graced a brief look of confusion, then he replied, "Of course, sir. We are hardly that brisk, you have only been unconscious for a couple of hours."

"I have to get out of here." Jethro attempted sitting up, only for his body to betray him and slump back down, the urge to vomit churning in his stomach.

Timothy worriedly stiffened, "Are you alright?" when Jethro didn't reply, he continued, "I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you leave here. Not just yet. You seem unwell."

"I have to warn…" Jethro moaned, the room spinning around him, "I have to warn the Time Lord. The last Time Lord."

The other man's lips parted in a short gasp, eyes widening slightly, "T-Time Lord?" he could barely recognise the fear in his own voice, "Do you mean… The Doctor?"

"You're aware of him?" Jethro arched an eyebrow.

Timothy shook his head, "Never mind." he averted his gaze for a few seconds, then glanced back up, eyes going glassy as he mumbled, "You're so far away from home. It's so far ahead, your parents haven't even been born yet."

"Excuse me?" Jethro arched an eyebrow.

Tim stood up, face blank as he continued, "You're so scared, running from the darkness. But, Jethro Cane, that darkness is already here with you. You've brought it." Timothy's movements loosened, and a terrified look came upon his face as he stumbled back, whispering apologies until his back hit the door.

"What was that?" Jethro tried to get up, but yet again, his body failed him, collapsing back onto the bed, "H-How did you know my name?"

Tim stammered, "W-Well, s-sir…" his military school tutor's voice rang through his mind - _speak with conviction and clearly, boy!_ \- and he had to remind himself that _thewarwasover_ , it was over, "Sometimes, I say things… sometimes… a lot of the time, it's correct and I… I just have to go." he disappeared behind the door, shutting it firmly, Jethro bed-bound on the other side.

Jethro looked at his vortex manipulator, that thankfully looked enough like a wrist cuff, wondering if had enough energy to successfully travel again any time soon, but deep inside, he knew he was going to have to stay there. He rested his head against the pillow, feeling his nausea call to him again.

He knew why he was feeling ill - it was a sadistic cocktail of homesickness, having his particles pulled across time and space and the fact that he hadn't eaten in days. Whilst being a Time Agent wasn't exactly a pro-ball career choice, it kept him fed and his family safe. He dreaded to think what they would do to his parents, so tried his hardest not to.

Timothy sat outside his country house, staring at a single blade of grass that seemed disproportionate with the others, it sticking high above all the others. He saw himself in that tiny cutting, one child who was always different from the others, the one who was skinny and weak, but chosen.

"You alright, old chap?" Hutchinson's voice greeted as he walked over and loomed over the smaller man.

Timothy shrugged, "I suppose. I just feel like meeting those people years ago, way back in 1913… it wasn't the end."

"Latimer, you know I hardly believe your childish fables sometimes." Hutchinson teased, "You've got to let it go, chum. It's over with."

Timothy crossed his arms, remarking, "You know I only told you the truth because I trusted you, and after everything with Mr. Smith and that- that family, I needed a friend."

"Well, how is our little companion doing?" Hutchinson changed the subject, shoving at Tim's shoulder.

Timothy let his thumbs tangle together anxiously as he replied, "He's awake, but I don't know… there's something simply… off about him."

"Is this because of your extra sympathetic-

Tim corrected, "Extra synaptic engram." he paused, huffing, "I suppose, but my… my abilities have been dormant for years now." he reached into his own breast pocket, pulling out a symbol-covered fob watch, "I just wish the Doctor was here now, telling me what to do. I miss it sometimes, the sound of whispers in my head, the sound of his voice."

"Come on, lad." Hutchinson pulled him up, drawing a surprised grunt, "You're being too miserable. Let's go for a pint."

Timothy nodded, putting the watch back into his pocket, then followed his friend down the road.

Meanwhile, half a mile through the darkness of Blackdown Woods, a flash of light erupted for a quick second, the light shaping into a humanoid form. The creature was almost human except for the obvious, enlarged fangs that stood where normal teeth were supposed to be. In the creature's hand was a large silver blaster that had words etched onto it, words from a language not of this earth.

A bubbling snarl tore from the alien's mouth, and they turned, aiming at a tree and pulling the trigger. There was an explosion as a bolt of white hit the tree, and when it faded, there was a hole burned through the centre.

The alien choked out a few words in their native language, then prepared itself as it began to storm it's way through the woods, looking to collect their bounty.

They would find Jethro Cane.


End file.
